


What is Your Silver Lining?

by VTheTrashKing



Series: Golden Lions [3]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst and Humor, Angst with a Happy Ending, But it's self imposed, Byleth has a different name, Character Death, Divine Pulse (Fire Emblem), Divine Pulse Angst (Fire Emblem), Divine Pulse Deaths (Fire Emblem), Execution, Female My Unit | Byleth, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Spoilers, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Male My Unit | Byleth, Multi, Nonbinary My Unit | Byleth, Pre-Timeskip | Academy Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Psychological Trauma, Snapshots, Temporary Character Death, Time Loop, Time Travel Fix-It, Video Game Mechanics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-30
Updated: 2020-08-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:35:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26200474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VTheTrashKing/pseuds/VTheTrashKing
Summary: Years after the war, Byleth, rather Morighan sits across Edelgard, drinking tea and confiding in her about his trauma during all four routes. She proposes to go back in time once more and change the future.They do, and things get worse before it finally gets better.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Claude von Riegan, Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier, Golden Deer Students & Claude von Riegan, My Unit | Byleth & Sothis, Past Jeritza von Hrym/My Unit | Byleth, Past Seteth/My Unit | Byleth
Series: Golden Lions [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1843606
Comments: 2
Kudos: 24





	What is Your Silver Lining?

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I'm back again with another part of Golden Lions. I'm still quite on the fence for this fic, so comments would be greatly appreciated. Either way, I hope you enjoy the fic!
> 
> I wrote this after completing Crimson Flower last, and the guilt piled on, the more characters I saw and killed. I didn't recruit ANYONE, and almost killed everyone, aside from Ignatz and Leonie (I did yeet them, but then I divine pulsed). I finished CF like a month ago and it STILL hurts to remember. 
> 
> Title is based on Alpharad's/Ace of Hearts' "Silver Lining."

“Are you happy, my teacher?”

Byleth, rather, Morighan’s dark blue eyes slowly flicked up to Edelgard’s face. He sipped on his chamomile tea, burning his tongue all the while. Morighan set his porcelain tea cup down onto the makeshift table in Edelgard’s room. He hummed, idly tracing his finger over the rim of the cup.

Was he happy?

“Why do you ask?” Morighan replied, not unkindly.

Edelgard pursed her lips, worrying a strand of light brown hair.

“You,” Edelgard narrowed her eyes, thinking of what to say, “you never seemed _happy,_ even after the war was won.”

Morighan fell silent.

“And you threw yourself into battles across Fódlan with Jeritza a day after we defeated the Immaculate One. We didn’t hear from you in _years,_ but there were reports and findings of a blue haired man and a reaper scouting out _certain_ Empire territories.”

Morighan nodded, “Yeah, I wanted to check up on the Black Eagles. I do it every year.”

“Without visiting us? Letting us _know_ you’re okay?”

“Yeah.”

Edelgard looked upset, eyebrows pinched, a frown marring her pale face.

“The war’s toll never left you, not even the _strongest_ man in the army.” Edelgard murmured, reaching her own conclusion.

Edelgard wasn’t that far off.

Twenty years worth of a _single_ war did plenty for him. 

“Probably.”

Edelgard opened and closed her mouth, grimacing.

“Just as I confided in you about my pain, _please_ do the same, my teacher. You, of all people deserve to be heard.”

Morighan sipped his tea again. 

“Have you ever thought you could do something different?”

“At times, yes.”

Morighan glanced towards the window, watching the dark gray clouds slowly roll by. 

“I never had that line of thinking, those second thoughts, wondering if I made the right choice.”

“Then, I suppose that’s good, isn’t it?”

Morighan shook his head, “I never _thought_ of it _because_ I had the ability to choose another option, right from the get go.”

Morighan placed a gloved hand over his beating heart.

“I could choose differently and no one would remember.”

Edelgard pursed her lips, yet held her tongue.

“I won’t beat around the bush. In short, I can manipulate time. Nowadays, I can’t. Or at least right _now_ I can’t.” 

“You could alter time? Truly?”

“Yeah, it was pretty convenient. That ability gave me a chance to walk three other paths,” a wistful smile shattered Morighan’s neutral expression, “each one was an experience, to say the least.”

Morighan’s smile withered away, staring down at the half empty tea cup. The echoing of a voice long, _long_ dead rang in his head. It was clear as the sky, steadfast and polite. It turned into a low, warbling growl, hardly lucid or aware aside from the ghosts plaguing its owner. Two words stuck on a loop, a sardonic little thing, piercing like a dagger to the shoulder. Undeniably _there_ and seemingly abrupt. There was no counter, other than tears running down the professor’s face. 

“And each one hurt more than the last. I grew to know the Blue Lions, taught them, nurtured them, picking up the fractured pieces I came to find during the war. For a second time, I cried, seeing Dimitri, how _far_ he had fallen because _I_ wasn’t there.”

Morighan could still picture Dimitri looking back, a mournful, delicate frown directed to his step-sister. The former professor and student pulled further into the light, as Edelgard was left shadowed. He could vividly remember the dead fish eyed gaze Dimitri had, warping his bright expressions into something _violent,_ the deep bags under his eyes. For all his strength, how weak he truly was under his black clad armor, the malnourishment, the lack of sleep. Even the way he presented himself, looking down on others and folding his arms, _she-_ Morighan could see Dimitri hiding his vulnerabilities away as best he could. It was tragic, terrifying as well, to see Dimitri fall so far into the hell inside his head, unable to climb out and instead succumb to the war around him. 

It was worse when Morighan could no longer save him, when he was _right_ there at Gronder, when he was forced to turn down Gilbert’s plea.

At Tailtean and overhearing the aftermath Morighan fought for.

“Because I was new to teaching, I failed to entice other students into my class,” Morighan inhaled, gritting his teeth, “I regret it when it was too late to save them, when I found them on the opposing side and soon dead at my feet.”

It started with that _bridge._ It marked the first drop of blood, the first time Morighan would see his students on the battlefield. They were there. Ferdinand and Lorenz. It _already_ terrified Morighan to see Ferdinand nestled into a corner up north, waiting for the Kingdom army to attack. They had, and Lorenz came to his rescue a little while later. Morighan killed them both with the Sword of the Creator, the blade feeling _less_ like a legend and more like a calamity.

_That_ was the first reason Morighan stopped wielding the Sword of the Creator in the next life.

Morighan made the mistake of talking to Dorothea that day. The mournful words that fell from her lips tormented him, even now. Mocking him for a failure that technically didn’t exist, that only he would remember. A constant arrow to the heart each time Morighan saw Ferdinand - _alive_ and well, smiling away like the beaming sun. All Morighan could picture, at first, was blood staining the pavement, orange-red flames crawling along the ground, an inch from a red clad body. A dead man face down in his own blood, tips of his vibrant orange hair soaked crimson. 

“I smartened up by the time I taught the Golden Deer next. I clamored to get _every_ single student and then I _did._ I was happy that they were safe from harm, but not the horrors of war or the regret they showed after Gronder.”

They steeled themselves, telling Morighan that, _no,_ they didn’t regret siding with him.

They did and Morighan knew it. The raw devastation from the Blue Lions, losing a childhood friend to his madness, a polite classmate with a bleeding heart. The quiet, still air of the Black Eagles, resolute for the nearing future - Edelgard’s death, saddened nonetheless.

Morighan didn’t blame them.

“Dimitri died, and he was right. That he would’ve died if I wasn’t there to guide him. I picked up lancing again, after that.” 

Morighan didn’t want to think about it.

“The Church came next, I stole your Eagles away, hated you for a third time, mocked you in secret, learned more about myself and fought Rhea. It was more of the same as my journey with the Golden Deer, a rather nice change of pace with Seteth leading the charge. After figuring out the truth from Rhea in my last life and gaining more context, I decided that I’d save her. I trusted her. I married her, which, in the grand scheme of things, _was_ weird.”

A broken laugh slipped from Morighan’s mouth.

“I broke that trust, that love she had for me when I sided with you. Before even _considering_ the road I’d go down, I changed everything about myself, to distance myself from my beloved students, my coworkers. Changed my name that I kept for three lifetimes, changed my gender. I kept to myself, never reaching out to the outer House students.”

Morighan regretted it.

“I was a stranger. And I was their killer five years later.”

Morighan _regretted_ it. The dying wails of his students, the looks of betrayal they would shoot at him, the pile of bodies that lay at his feet. Growing and growing, sinking Morighan deeper and deeper into piping hot tar.

“My teac-”

“I faced so _many_ of my kids, almost every single one of them, I saw all of my coworkers - my _family-_ and I tried, I _tried_ to save the most I could. I got too hasty, too desperate and Claude was killed. My _boy,_ my son! Right after, we were met with Seteth and I _couldn’t._ I couldn’t let him die, not when I loved him so, _so_ much-! I wouldn’t let Flayn scream out for her fa- _brother,_ so I spared him, I managed to spare them both-”

Claude was killed. Morighan had tried twice, _twice,_ including all of his Divine Pulses to spare him.

It didn’t work. He was killed. Morighan paid the price, learning of the news from Bernadetta and Ferdinand. He threw up, worrying them, so he went back in time. Morighan speed walked into the Holy Tomb, locking himself away, curling up into a ball and sobbing into the dark. Sobbing to a doppelganger that silently watched him, mint green eyes flashing with hatred. Self-hatred, sorrow, Morighan didn’t know, but it was how he felt.

Morighan still felt that way, a ghost of a chuckle, powerful yet smooth yells, or _thwang_ of an arrow letting loose haunting him during the night.

“ _Please,_ you’re shaki-”

“Then we were at Tailtean, and I was _so_ glad that it had rained because I could cry. My little lion cubs, _Dimitri-_ he was so different, much more composed than he _ever_ was, hardly even _fixated_ on you, and maybe I thought it was because his lions were there for him. _Dedue_ was there for him.”

Morighan was fine, because he was happy.

Morighan drew in a ragged breath, choking on nothing.

“I knew something was wrong with the soldiers, with Dedue, and-” Morighan’s voice broke, “ _and-_ and I knew, I _knew_ if our army got too close, or if we were too late- Dima would have died by your hand, and I thought it would be too cruel a death.”

Morighan was fine, because his kids were remembered.

“I lost the first time, everyone retreated but me. Everyone turned into a Demonic Beast. So did Dedue. I killed him with only a pair of bows and tried to make it to Dimitri. I died a few minutes later. I started the battle again and defeated Dedue before he transformed. They died together, Dimitri and him, and I cried.”

Morighan was fine, because losing them in this war, _this_ way was inevitable.

“And then _Rhea-_ the remaining Blue Lions, Ashe and Annette. Catherine- everyone died, _everyone_ died, they’re all dead. Felix and Ingrid didn’t even have a proper burial because their bodies were _never_ recovered. Sothis is gone, she’s _really_ gone, there’s no one in my head to tell me I can weep, that I still have a purpose!”

Morighan was _fine,_ because he _didn’t_ spiral in front of someone he used to hate.

Morighan gripped the edge of the table and bit down on his tongue. A weak, fractured laugh left his mouth. It sounded more like a sob.

“But hey, I killed the Slithers and married Jeritza, so- _so_ that’s great!”

“Fighting makes me happy, I’m alright, I’m okay.”

“I’m okay.” Morighan whispered, voice breaking.

“My teacher,” Edelgard mournfully called, “I never knew, not for a moment you struggled like this during the war, I always thought you were level headed, even when facing off against the people we knew. Ready for each and every battle.”

“Well, you were wrong. I cried in secret often. I cried in front of the Black Eagles, dried my tears and went back five minutes before a battle. I couldn’t go to the dorms or I would start bawling my eyes out. I started throwing myself into fights during the weekends, only staying at the monastery to check up on my students or eat. I hid away in the Holy Tomb a lot, too depressed to leave.”

“I am _so_ sorry, if I had known, I would have been there to listen, I-”

“You would have, I know. You would have told me to stand tall and move forward. There was no time to waste on crying, so I gave the illusion that I was perfectly fine, that each victory didn’t hurt so much.”

“I don’t know if I can go back. If I want to go back. If I can make a change, it’s probably impossible, the three of you never liked to talk, let alone to each other. And it would feel selfish, manipulative for me to start all over just for what? Something unattainable? A world without suffering? That’s not realistic. It’s _stupid._ Risking so many lives and playing them to my will, it’s so self-serving, so-”

“It’s true, there will _always_ be conflict, just as there will be peace. People in this world suffer, it’s unavoidable, even with times of peace, but they have the strength to move on however they like. _You_ have the power to inspire, to bandage old wounds of the past, to guide so many so they aren’t led astray. You made me believe in something so fickle as hope.”

“I believe _you_ can pave a better future for us. _So,_ plant your feet, grit your teeth and try once more!”

Morighan shot up like a rocket, knocking the tea cup over. The cold tea spilled over the table. For the first time _ever,_ he hugged Edelgard, holding onto her like a lifeline. He sobbed into her shoulder, unable to breathe. 

“I’m scared, I’m so _scared,_ Edelgard.” Morighan croaked out, struggling due to the lump in his throat.

Edelgard hugged Morighan back, threading her fingers in his hair. She didn’t reply, only holding him tighter. Her hand slipped away from his dark blue hair as she slowly pulled back. Edelgard gently tugged at a royal blue ribbon, loosening it and freeing her side ponytail. She held it in her open palm, stroking the fabric with her thumb.

“Let this ribbon become your faith, your strength to keep moving forward.”

Morighan’s mouth opened and promptly shut.

Edelgard stared at the ribbon, almost forlornly.

“I bought it some time ago, I think after I realized why I cried over Dimitri that day. I thought, at first it was because he was another man lost to the war, or simply because _I_ did not have the means to save him. When my hair color went back to its original state, all of those repressed and forgotten memories came flooding back.”

“I forgot all about that boy, my own brother, and then I realized just _why_ he hated me so. That amount of rage, his anger was born from betrayal, his own love that had shattered. Hate is an emotion so easily created, yet I think what hurt me the most is that he _truly_ cared for me, truly loved me even when I long since forgot he existed.”

Edelgard’s pale lilac eyes flicked up to Morighan, “If you alone can direct Jeritza to take on and almost single-handedly defeat Rhea, then you can guide the next Edelgard to walk hand in hand with her little brother.”

Edelgard placed the ribbon in Morighan’s shaking hand, cupping his palm with both hands.

“Your will is indomitable, do not forget that.”

“Thank you. _Thank_ you, El.”

Morighan let his eyes slip shut, fingers curling around the delicate ribbon. There was nothing to pull from, no divine energy since Sothis’ presence was gone from his heart, no dull pulse keeping his body afloat, spiking up in speed like a wyvern’s flight once time rewound.

Morighan breathed through his nose and exhaled. There was a faint, barely there chill around his neck. It steadily shifted down to his back and chest, almost feeling like a hug. 

Minutes sluggishly ticked by like oozing honey off a ladle. The small drop of honey splattered onto a canvas of pre-existing, fading artwork. A gong sounded once and the canvas was wiped clean. 

Morighan opened his eyes, restarting his journey once again.

* * *

“Your will is indomitable, do not forget that.”

Edelgard’s voice lowered to a faint whisper as darkness flooded the Holy Tomb. A speckle of flickering green light lit up near a stone throne, flowing down the long winding stairs and aimlessly swirling around. Instead of the usual empty, cold throne or the mysterious, blank faced body double, _Sothis_ sat upon it.

Sothis sat on her throne, lax, much like a cat. She rested her cheek against her closed fist, watching in curiosity.

“Oh? I do wonder how you managed to get in here,” a yawn spilled from Sothis’ mouth, “I wish to have a closer look at you, come now.”

The blue haired woman stepped forward, eyes red rimmed as though she was crying.

“Are you weeping,” Sothis asked, surprised, a motherly tone threatening to dash away any teasing remark, “I do not understand why you cry so, yet I feel the same sorrow, curious, isn’t it?”

With a hint of humor, Sothis continued, “Dry your tears or I may never hear your name!”

“I’m-”

The nameless woman stopped, lips down turned into a slight frown. She opened her mouth to speak only to close it a moment later.

_There’s no harm in using my original name, it’s still special to me even if I have no idea why. I grew attached to that name, a man’s name. No one will remember._

_Jus-_

“I’m Byleth.”

Byleth _hated_ her birth name, too bland, too blank just like how she used to be. Oh well, a white canvas of a name would be fitting, she guessed.

Sothis scrutinized Byleth, leaning forward in her throne, free hand idly tapping the armrest.

“Huh. You seem,” Sothis narrowed her eyes, “strangely familiar. Have I met you from somewhere?”

“Probably.” Byleth answered because Sothis _would_ know if she lied.

Sothis didn’t remember and Byleth hardly expected her to.

Byleth watched Sothis lean back into her throne, vibrant dark green hair spilling everywhere. Her pale green eyes grew heavy lidded by the second as she began to slump over the armrest.

“It’s,” Sothis yawned, pointed ears perking up as they peeked through her hair, “almost time to begin.”

Byleth’s eyes fluttered open, staring at a wooden nightstand. A candle was set in the center, dried wax spilling over the stick. The wick was still lit. Byleth watched the flame gently dance in place. She sunk into her bed a bit more, dark blue eyes trailing down to her right hand. 

A ribbon.

Byleth began to sit up, stuffing the ribbon in her coat pocket. She cast a glance at her father, not daring to stare because she _knew_ she would start seeing a body laying on the wet ground below, slowly losing its - _his_ warmth against the ice cold rain. Byleth drilled holes into the wooden door, frantic knocking reaching her ears. 

_Here we go again._

* * *

Byleth’s official fifth attempt didn’t yield too many results. It gave her hope, as well as a new avenue, though.

Byleth continued to stroll down the underground passage, eyes adjusting to a different set of lights other than the string of dimly lit candles. She was alone, as always with these monthly missions, taking no rebuttal or plea from her Blue Lions to let them help. Their fears grew and grew, especially when the aftermath of Conand Tower stared them down in the face. 

_You show up injured to Garreg Mach_ one _time and the poor cubs have a fit._

Byleth shook her head, ridding herself of her thoughts. She would keep going, even if she could no longer stand on her own two feet. Fighting the Black Beast was just a drop in the bucket compared to _other_ monsters. Or at least it should have been.

_Miklan was a disaster to deal with, even as a person. So frustrating._

All that piece of trash did was spit in her face when he lost, screaming at her for being a “good for nothing Crest-bearer” and called her a stupid bitch when she lectured him. She was _hoping_ to have some sort of conversation, mostly _why_ did he take out all of his rage and anguish on his baby brother. Why had he decided to hurt him at every turn instead of nurture him?

Byleth already knew Miklan’s answer and the monster of a man refused to offer one. He couldn’t, not really, when a looming beast soon replaced him. The Black Beast _really_ gave her a run for her money, killing her a few times, mostly due to her own mistakes. A tail slamming into her, crushing her body into a wall. Claws swiping at her as she tried to weave out the way. A horn piercing her stomach, an eerie purple glow of the Gautier Crest staring back at her. To that, Byleth played the long game until Miklan fell.

Byleth slowed to a stop at an all too familiar face.

The Death Knight.

“Hey, Byleth here.” Byleth said with a small wave, before the Death Knight could speak.

The Death Knight’s glowing red eyes tracked her, simply staring for a while.

“You do not have the Sword of the Creator, yet you still choose to face me.”

“Uh-huh. We can fight right now if you want. Or is it a bad time?”

As Morighan, he and Jeritza practically fought wherever they went, not because they hated each other, far from it. There were times Jeritza couldn’t control himself, itching for a spar or a _real_ battle against him. Of course, Morighan allowed for it, fighting the Death Knight - Jeritza grew to become _very_ entertaining. The little smiles that would appear on Jeritza’s face or the innocent delight in his eyes once he landed a hit on Morighan was _everything._

Somehow, the Death Knight became synonymous with oddly adorable and _extremely_ devoted.

Although the Death Knight before Byleth didn’t seem to react, she knew better. The way he continued to pin her down with his red eyed stare heavily suggested he _desperately_ wished to fight her. Under the mask, Byleth could easily picture Jeritza vibrating with excitement, a slight tug of his lips, half-mad, half-genuine.

Byleth, in the face of the _true_ definition of death, smiled from ear to ear.

“You will be a _fine_ opponent to crush.” Jeritza replied. 

Jeritza used a Warp spell, leaving Byleth in the dust. Byleth snorted, laughing under her breath. The man rarely became flustered, but when he did, Jeritza often did not know what to do other than flee. 

Without wasting a moment, Byleth gave chase. She alone fought through droves of _Flame Emperor_ soldiers, lock picking or breaking down the doors that stopped her. Byleth _nearly_ cleaned up the area with only a couple of steel bows, standing in front of rounded wood double doors. Byleth fiddled with a golden door key, flipping it into the air and catching it with her other hand. She firmly held the key in her left hand, sliding it into the keyhole and twisting it. The door creaked open, the sound resembling a dying wail. The lone mage and the Death Knight instantly locked onto Byleth, eyeing her. Byleth brushed past the mage, ignoring the floating Fire spell in his hands and stood at a reasonable distance from the Death Knight.

“Hey again, Death Knight.”

The mage to the Death Knight’s right sputtered. 

“Now, you will die. How joyous.” 

“Not exactly, if I die, you won’t be able to fight me again.”

It was as if the Death Knight was flooded by imaginary mathematics, judging by how quiet he became.

“I,” the Death Knight paused, staring right at Byleth, “see. I will allow you to flee.”

Byleth nodded, taking her bow from her back. She pulled an arrow from her quiver and nocked it onto the bow. The Death Knight immediately reacted, charging forward and raising his signature scythe into the air. His horse galloped across the room, neighing as she got closer to Byleth. Just as the Death Knight brought his scythe down, curving his swing, Byleth spun on her feet and jumped away. Byleth ran towards Jeritza, narrowing her eyes at the Death Knight’s helmet. 

Byleth knew if she wandered too far from Jeritza, a devastating electric attack would greet her.

Byleth crouched low on the floor, shooting an arrow right between the Death Knight’s eyes. Of course, Jeritza dodged the projectile with ease. One might count that as an annoyance, a chance at winning, gone. 

Not really, not in the slightest.

It was _fun._ Fighting Jeritza always got Morighan’s blood pumping, feeding into each other as they clashed. Dodging would be lethal strikes sparked a _sick_ thrill in Morighan’s head, the _clang_ of metal on metal vibrating against his body, the cuts, the bruises, the _bloo-_

_Get it together! Now is not the time!_

Byleth horizontally flipped the bow in her hands, nocking another arrow. She pulled the bowstring, letting the arrow fly as it curved upwards. It hit its mark, piercing the Death Knight’s armored chest. Byleth couldn’t help herself, grinning like a madman when Jeritza grunted. The blow wasn’t heavy, but the Death Knight’s horse stumbled back a bit. The Death Knight recovered quickly, holding his scythe high in the air. Byleth rose an eyebrow, keenly watching the blade spark with sky blue electricity. It crackled along the scythe blade for a few moments before raining down with a thundering _boom_ across the room. Byleth backpedaled, avoiding the elemental counterattack. Byleth placed an arrow on her bow, tilting the ranged weapon vertically. Just before the thunder faded away, Byleth released the arrow. Electricity caught onto the arrowhead, buzzing around it. To no one’s surprise, the Death Knight evaded the attack.

Jeritza hummed, seemingly impressed.

The Death Knight circled Byleth, contemplating his next move, waiting for a weakness to exploit. 

“You don’t have to wait _that_ long, go on, hit me.”

It was an invitation, a free ticket. The Death Knight took it, hasty enough to spill blood. For the sake of it, Byleth would wholeheartedly allow it. The Death Knight rounded on Byleth within moments, scythe slashing Byleth’s chest like a knife to butter. Her clothes were easily torn, _ripped,_ making her wish it was her fle-

_Okay._

Byleth’s thief gear was shredded by the thick cut, slicing through her skin. Fresh blood soaked her clothes. Byleth hissed at the stinging pain lighting her nerves on fire. She briefly stumbled on her feet, a shaky exhale leaving her mouth. Byleth smiled, swapping her bow for a steel sword.

“Good job, there!” Byleth yelled.

“Congratulating your murderer almost ending your life? How _thrilling._ ”

Byleth drummed her fingers along the hilt, a habit she picked up from Felix, noting how he’d prepare himself for a fight. A habit that stuck with him, even during the war, the tapping of gloved fingers getting faster the more excited or nervous Felix was. 

Byleth tightly gripped the hilt, dashing up to the Death Knight, sword pointed to the floor and quickly rising. She leapt off the floor, Crest of Flames burning into her left leg. Byleth pulled her arm back, striking the Death Knight’s side. The Death Knight fell off his horse, half-tumbling onto the ground. Byleth’s wound glowed gold, steadily closing up. The Death Knight’s horse whinnied, clearly worried for her rider. Byleth pat the horse.

“He’ll be okay, look.” Byleth whispered to Jeritza’s horse.

The Death Knight rose to his feet, eyeing Byleth. She pat the horse once more as a slew of memories crawled along her mind. 

Byleth found herself back in Garreg Mach, a once semi-peaceful year fully plunged into chaos once a mask fell to the ground. It shattered under Dimitri’s foot, the catalyst to burn away an already rickety bridge. The unmasked Flame Emperor returned to the monastery within two weeks, laying a siege with her allies in tow. One such ally was the Death Knight, a reasonably terrifying man, as well as a growing pain in Byleth’s side. 

The Death Knight sat pretty on a stronghold, guarding the area.

That was, until Byleth and her Blue Lions drew near. She was _sure_ he would stay still, just watching them.

Then, the Death Knight began to _chase_ them around, inching closer and closer. If Byleth’s heart could beat, it would slam against her rib cage in _fear._ Byleth avoided the Death Knight, when he first appeared in the Holy Mausoleum, and continued to do so after he kept appearing. 

Byleth frantically ordered her Lions to run, while Catherine held the Death Knight off.

The next few lifetimes of dealing with the Death Knight were nothing short of annoying. It became a chore once Byleth saw the Death Knight looming about, akin to a barricade. It felt _exhilarating_ to beat the Death Knight at every single turn, especially in Byleth’s previous life. Morighan was sick of the Death Knight haunting the academy, so he decided to lay waste to the man in the Underground Chamber. He wanted to feel _proud,_ knowing that he could win against the Death Knight _without_ Lysithea’s help.

Morighan grew from mildly disliking the Death Knight to outright hating the sound of Jeritza’s, low, _low,_ bone deep and slow voice, and surprisingly _falling_ in _love_ with the man. Jeritza, at first, was _extremely_ antisocial, quiet and often aloof. He reminded Morighan of Felix, but the former professor dashed that thought away, his heart hurting too much for him to bear.

Jeritza was bloodthirsty, willing to fight, even to the death, craving and obsessing over Morighan, perhaps after the Underground Chamber. But, hidden under his mask was a sweet, albeit a little weird side to him.

“Hey, Jeri?” Morighan asked, watching Jeritza’s brows quirk up.

Jeritza ignored the fearful whispers and the rapid, fading footfalls in the dining hall. He continued to eat his ice cream in silence.

“Jeri.” Jeritza repeated, narrowing his eyes.

“A nickname, do you like it?”

Jeritza’s mouth slightly parted around his spoon, closing into a thin line when he scooped up another spoonful of his vanilla and chocolate ice cream.

“It is,” Jeritza paused, blankly staring at Morighan, “alright.”

Morighan often gave his students and coworkers nicknames. He distinctly remembered calling Seteth “Seth” a couple of times. He missed his husband. _Her_ husband.

Seteth was long gone, fleeing from the blooming spider lilies in Garreg Mach.

“I’m glad, Jeri! I was worried you wouldn’t like it.”

“I like it.”

Morighan smiled and Jeritza’s lips twitched.

“I have a question for you.” Morighan said after a thick lull of comfortable silence.

“Yes?”

“That horse of yours, does it have a name?”

Sylvain once told Morighan - _Just-_ he once mentioned naming his horse Lady, half-laughing to himself as he did so.

“No.”

“Then let’s name it. Together.” 

Jeritza seemed to consider it, dipping his head down. He ate more of his ice cream. They sat together, quiet.

“Is Ice Cream a fitting name?” Jeritza asked after five minutes went by.

Morighan’s smile grew, eyes crinkling in delight. He tried and failed to force his laughter down. Jeritza frowned at him, almost, _almost_ looking like a pout rather than an annoyed scowl.

“Ice Cream is _perfect,_ Jeritza.”

Byleth was forced out of her memories once the Death Knight practically _loomed_ over her. 

“Prepare yourself!” Byleth roared, _slamming_ her sword into the Death Knight’s chest.

Jeritza doubled over, groaning in pain.

_Sothis, can you do me a favor?_

Sothis laughed in Byleth’s head, ‘ _It depends! What do you wish for me to do?_ ’

_Stop time, but make sure the Death Knight isn’t affected._

‘ _Have you lost your mind?! Do you **still** want to cross blades with him? He can kill you! He almost did!_’

_I want to buy some time._

‘ _For?!_ ’

Byleth didn’t answer Sothis. The sound of shattering glass filled her ears. Everything around her dulled in color, turning into a sea of hazy purple. The mage froze in place, unblinking eyes wide with terror.

Byleth ran over to the Death Knight, stealing his scythe before he could recover. She pulled out a small cardboard box with colorful red paint and huge yellow letters from her pocket. The Death Knight simply eyed it as Byleth waved the box around. Byleth dropped to the floor, sitting down.

“Let’s play, it’ll be fun.”

“I have no need of this.”

Byleth tapped her chin, another stolen habit.

“If you win, you can fight me to the death. If I win, we play another round.”

“Fine.”

‘ _You **must** be joking! A card game?! You are playing a **card game** with the Death Knight?!_’

“There are a few rules and they’re easy to follow. The goal of the game is to _lose_ cards, when you get up to one, you have to shout ‘ _Uno!_ ’ If you don’t, you have to get another card. You lose cards by matching a number or color with the current card in the center. Sometimes, you can get special cards, too, but I’ll explain as we go.”

“Hmph. This is foolish.”

‘ _For once I agree with this murderous man! Why on earth would you even consider-_ ’

“A little,” Byleth laughed, shuffling the deck and handing out Jeritza’s seven cards, “but I think you’ll have fun.”

They began to play and _somehow_ Jeritza kept getting really good cards, placing several skip and reverse cards, finishing the first round with startling ease. The pair didn’t fight, surprising Byleth, but Jeritza seemed to have a good time playing. An echoing, distorted laugh leaving his helmet, a hum of delight. They kept playing, sometimes in pure silence, or idle chatter filling the still room. Sothis begrudgingly cheered Byleth on, eyeing the strange spectacle in disbelief.

‘ _I think you two have played enough. I still fail to see the purpose of this._ ’

_What? No. We just started round twenty._

From the corner of Byleth’s eye, Sothis rolled her eyes, virtually unimpressed.

_Besides, it’s a part of my plan._

‘ _Your plan._ ’ Sothis repeated, dumbfounded.

_It’s stupid, but this, right here, gives me an idea. If I can just get those three kids to talk, just to spend time with each other, then maybe I could prevent the war._

‘ _A war? What do you mean?_ ’

_It’s nothing, Sothis._

‘ _Your sorrow says otherwise._ ’

Sothis resumed time. The pair continued their game, watching as the lone mage screamed his head off and ran. They glanced back to the cards in their hands, fully engrossed. After ten minutes, a beam of pink light caught Byleth’s attention. The Flame Emperor arrived at the scene.

“ _What_ are you doing?” The Flame Emperor asked, her masked voice bordering on annoyance.

“Playing Uno. You want to join?”

“Why are you _wasting_ time playing a card game? How did this woman even trick you into playing?”

The Death Knight placed _another_ skip card onto the pile, following up with a red eight card.

“Uno.”

“ _Again?!_ Death Knight! You’re too good at this.”

“Death Knight. You clearly had too much fun. We’re leaving.”

They unintentionally ignored the Flame Emperor, finishing their round. Byleth threw her hands up in outrage.

“Next time I see you, I _will_ win. Trust me.”

“The next time we meet, it will be soaked in blood.”

“But what about our card game? Did you not like it?”

Silence.

“I suppose I can entertain the idea.”

The Flame Emperor just stared at them, probably baffled. A pink beam of light engulfed the Flame Emperor and Jeritza, whisking the pair away.

The days at Garreg Mach went by like they always did, chaotic and sharply reaching a breaking point all too soon. All of the students and staff were gathered up to defend the monastery once again. In the midst of the massive battle, just the two of them; Byleth and the Death Knight sat amongst a thicket, playing cards in a frozen world. 

The war was declared, yet Byleth earned another General in the form of Jeritza.

* * *

“Your will is indomitable, do not forget that.”

The sixth and seventh attempts were fundamentally the same, yet the latter ended so poorly, just before the siege on Garreg Mach would even begin.

Byleth chose to give up her role, letting Jeralt take up the mantle. Her father picked the Golden Deer, taking up Byleth’s advice and gathered the rest of the student body into the House within a couple of months. It was a little strange to be called Byleth instead of Professor, but seeing the gruff smile on her father’s face made it worth it. Each and every student called Jeralt ‘Captain,’ aside from Claude, who merely shortened the title or called him by his name to annoy him. Byleth advised Jeralt to foster outer House relationships, almost frantically. He did, taking them on a slew of fishing trips or taking up the kids’ requests. Except Sylvain’s, unless he was serious.

Things were going fairly well for _months._ Dimitri and Edelgard were slowly getting along, Claude smiled a bit more, steadily becoming far more genuine. Unlikely friendships bloomed within the three Houses, apparently blossoming into a massive found family after _several_ heartfelt stories and tears.

The war was declared _much_ faster, right after the grand ball was held. Edelgard wept, her face full of regret, spilling a name from her lips.

Thales.

Jeralt died protecting Lysithea and Sylvain from Thales that night.

It never rained.

Byleth restarted once more. Jeralt taught again, this time guiding the Black Eagles. She worked in the shadows, much like Hubert, a man she sorely misjudged for _years._

The kid was alright, hilarious, if Byleth was being honest. Jeralt shared that sentiment, laughing with Byleth as he recounted the dour man threatening to kill him. 

As Jeralt would teach weekly lectures, awaiting the Black Eagles’ monthly missions from Rhea-

It _hurt_ seeing Rhea, the loneliness on her serene face, watching Byleth with a barely there frown, hoping to reunite with her mother.

Hoping to rip Morighan’s heart from his chest, a familiar term of endearment drenched in poison, still whispered so _sweetly._

-Byleth would sneak out, dismantling the missions by arriving two days after they were announced. Byleth learned about Kostas, a face she long forgot. The bandit leader had a son up in Enbarr, his wife fell to sickness and he didn’t have the financial means to take care of his child anymore, falling into thievery. 

Byleth was reminded of Ashe.

Luckily for Kostas, Byleth was _still_ a sentimental fool. The pair spoke until the sun bled orange and pinks into the sky, Byleth leaving Kostas with fifty thousand gold she earned from back to back auxiliary battles and selling stacks of bullions. They had a deal, Kostas would leave Zanado for Enbarr and find a _legal_ job, perhaps a shopkeep or a blacksmith. The man gave her a funny yet grateful look, but left the Red Canyon without a fight.

Lonato came next. It took about three Divine Pulses to successfully talk him out of his rebellion. It was more of a _stern_ talking to, clear cut and leaving little to no room for arguments, much like the well meaning yet critical lectures Seth - _Seteth_ would give. Demanding Lonato to understand what the _hell_ he was going to do out of _grief._ He _still_ had a living, breathing son who looked up to him. Who thought the _world_ of him, even after he learned about the rebellion, even after he took his final breath in the flaming city of Fhirdiad. Byleth understood plenty of revenge, of sorrow.

Dimitri, Rhea, Edelgard.

Byleth understood just _what_ pain could lead to.

A desire for revenge, the _only_ thing keeping a boy afloat, his only purpose for living.

A desperate wish to see a mother, cruelly killed and remade into a haunting blade made up of glowing bones. Regret pushing a lonely, distraught woman to the brink. _Rage_ and betrayal fueling a fire, sending that same woman over the edge.

A vow to unravel a country, rebuilding it through war. Destroying a longstanding system etched in agony, twin Crests sealing a fate and a weighty decision.

So, Byleth understood pain well enough. 

She made _sure_ Lonato knew it, too, weaving true stories and covering up names, sitting with the elderly man in Magdred Way in the thick forest over a burning campfire. For a second, Byleth thought she saw an older Ashe grimacing at her, bow pointed towards her, piping hot flames and magma below their feet. Byleth readied hers, shooting an arrow to disarm her former student, yelling for him to _come home._ Ashe did, retreating as Gwendal screeched at him for the apparent betrayal.

After dealing with Lonato, Miklan predictably came next. Byleth knew the man was a victim, just like Sylvain, but that was where the empathy stopped. She was _still_ more than furious at Miklan, for treating her _kid_ like that. Abandoning his little brother twice over in the hopes of killing him, directing his rage and manipulating his poor, innocent baby brother into thinking he was worth _nothing._

Sylvain wasn’t _nothing._

Sylvain was _never_ nothing.

Byleth promptly stole the Lance of Ruin from Miklan, beating the _shit_ out of him with her bare hands. She didn’t need a Crest to fight him, just like _he_ didn’t need one to abuse his brother for years. After beating him, Byleth all but _screamed_ at the disowned Gautier, cursing all the while. Telling Miklan he should have _been there_ for his brother, that he should have cared for him, becoming his parental figure; his guide because their lousy, poor excuse for a father wasn’t up to the task. She angrily cited Raphael, how the boy loved his little sister so _dearly,_ no matter _what,_ knowing that if she had a Crest, the boy wouldn’t have _cared._

Miklan stopped the verbal abuse after a minute, watching Byleth with growing fear as her eye and hair color shifted. The living piece of trash left Conand Tower on shaky legs, too afraid to even glare at Byleth.

Byleth intercepted the Death Knight from kidnapping Flayn, choosing to switch places. She was stuck in the Underground Chamber for a while, questioned by a sneering, wild-eyed _Monica._ Byleth ignored her before the urge to slam Kronya’s head into the stone walls overtook her. She asked Jeritza to duel and play Uno, which he agreed to both. A few members of each House, including a terrified Flayn, Seteth and Jeralt found the unlikely trio playing their card game in the dark three hours later. Byleth’s, or she guessed, Jeralt’s kids stared at the trio in abject _horror._

Ahead of time, Byleth bugged Claude for a cure, a way to restore Remire Village’s river from Solon’s meddling.

“Claude. I need to talk to you.” Byleth greeted him as she opened the doors to the greenhouse.

Byleth saw Claude tense up, subtle like the first drop of rain to fall. He relaxed, realizing who called for him. The boy turned to look over his shoulder, a fake smile easily plastered on his face.

“Hey there, Little Teach! Is Cap complaining about me again? I swear I didn’t poison Dimitri!”

“Jeralt likes you enough, and please don’t poison Dimitri unless it’s to get him to sleep.”

Claude’s emerald eyes lit up like shining gemstones, “Oh? You approve, then?”

“Something like that. Again, I need to talk to you. This is important.”

Claude narrowed his eyes, furrowing his brows.

“Yeah?”

“If a body of water gets contaminated, what can you do? You work with poisons, Jeralt told me and he can care less if you continue. Can or _will_ you come up with a cure if it meant saving lives?”

“That’s a pretty loaded question there, Little Teach.”

“Claude.” Byleth called, her face barely shifting into a stern, no nonsense look.

“You got it, I’ll see what I can do. I’ll rope Marianne and the other Faith users into helping.”

A smile faintly danced across Byleth’s face, “Good. There’s a reason Jeralt likes you.”

Byleth’s expression withered into a neutral look as she glanced at Claude’s earring. It slightly bounced as Claude reared back in surprise, three tiny loops clinking together. She kept staring at it, watching the silver earring turn a shining bronze as it was placed on a dusty floor with a _loud_ click. 

“Huh? You’re staring at my earring, how come?” Claude asked, his shock quickly turning into suspicion. 

Byleth frowned, meeting Claude’s ice cold eyes, internally panicking as she thought those eyes dulled, turning lifeless. Her mouth parted.

“Nothing. A friend of mine had one. He took it off.”

Claude’s eyes flashed, curious, yearning to pick apart Byleth and find a secret.

“Why?”

A man in gold and a woman in black stared at the scene before them, quiet.

“Drop it.” 

“I mean, hey, I’m only curious! I hardly know anything about you. How about this, you tell me a secret and I tell you one.”

Byleth knew Claude like the back of her hand, like the multitude of lances she had before and during the war. He knew her as well as he knew how to shoot an arrow, conjure powerful wind spells and parry a blow with a sword. He knew her, trusted her enough to keep his dancer silks, an eye roll and a pout on the Alliance Leader’s face as she ordered him to reclass back to a Dancer three times.

“ _Drop_ it, Riegan. I won’t tell you again.”

Claude frowned at the clear warning, letting Byleth off the hook from his questions. Byleth left and within a week or two, Claude handed over a set of five bottles.

Remire Village was salvaged a mere thirty minutes after Solon poisoned the river.

The investigation of the Chapel occurred. Byleth went in Jeralt’s stead.

Caspar died by Monica’s hand, Linhardt’s dark blue eyes flying wide open, Petra screaming bloody murder, cursing Monica to hell in her native tongue.

Byleth went back.

Bernadetta was killed with an easy stab to the chest, the poor girl thrashed around, sobbing for Hubert to help her. For the first time, Byleth thought, Hubert looked absolutely _terrified._

Byleth used another Divine Pulse.

Ferdinand took a fatal blow for Dorothea, smiling away at her, asking the girl if he was a good worker bee yet. He locked eyes with Byleth, recognition flashing in them, apologizing for causing her such sorrow at-

_At-_

The Great Bridge of Myrddin.

Byleth went back again, bringing her down to ten. She watched her Eagles run after the Demonic Beasts, giving her a chance to find Monica.

Byleth caught Kronya hiding in the ruined chapel, twirling the dagger that killed her father in her hands. She cast a Thunder spell, watching Kronya fall to the ground, stunned. Byleth shot an arrow from an upgraded Killer Bow, killing the woman instantly.

Edelgard of all people saw her, lilac eyes slightly wide before she donned an ice cold mask.

“How will you explain this to Rhea?”

“I don’t.”

Byleth turned the clock back, a sigh ripping from her mouth. She eyed Hubert, and the man glanced back.

“Hubert. Do something for me.”

Hubert rose his paper thin eyebrow, almost daring Byleth to request something.

“I want you to kill Monica.”

Hubert’s eyebrow rose to his hairline. His brief startled expression smoothed out into his neutral look, a full on deathly scowl.

“That can be arranged, Byleth.”

Hubert found Monica, tugging at his dove white gloves with a smirk on his pale face. He cast a spell and Monica easily dodged it. She giggled, a hideous, _menacing_ sound as she stabbed Hubert in his neck. 

Hubert’s acidic eye slid over to Byleth, recalling something.

“You took-” Hubert winced, coughing up blood, “-the _easy_ way out to kill me? _Thrice?_ I thought too highly of you.” Hubert’s dying breath ended with Byleth’s original name.

Bernadetta _screamed,_ falling to the ground. Her sobs reached deaf ears as Hubert’s body fell with a thud. Edelgard watched Byleth with a _furious_ scowl, unshed tears lining her pale lilac eyes.

Byleth went back, _way_ back and let Jeralt come to the mission.

Jeralt didn’t die, for Monica had an entirely different target. _Byleth._

Byleth won the battle, feeling blank, pure white eyes staring at the back of her head. 

Nemesis was revived a week after the Eagles returned to Garreg Mach.

Everyone had fallen, slowly dropping like flies, leaving only Byleth on the field. Byleth didn’t remember Nemesis’ singing sounding so terrifying.

Byleth grit her teeth, Killer Bow aimed at Nemesis’ head. She stood in range of his Dark Creator Sword, a blade she once whittled down and broke to prove a point. The former professor readied an arrow at point blank range, a technique she borrowed from Cyril.

Cyril, a boy who worked himself to the bone at the monastery, scrawny looking at first glance, but quite strong. A boy, a _man_ forced to shoot his mother figure, the sole person he was devoted to, crying in front of the Black Eagles and Seteth for the first time _ever._ He brushed away a comforting hand from Ashe, his very first friend. The same man, a wyvern lord instead of a sniper, scowling hard at Morighan, his tan face shifting into pure horror as he sat there in the air against high rising flames, unable to do a single thing but watch. 

The _moment_ the arrow flew true, Nemesis plunged the carbon copy blade right through Byleth’s heart. The arrow struck the man’s forehead, killing him.

Sothis’ bloodcurdling scream seemed so far away. Byleth’s bow fell out of her hands, her body going with it onto the bloodied ground.

* * *

“Your will is indomitable, do not forget that.”

Byleth made a mistake.

Byleth’s eighth attempt quickly ended, one hundred percent due to her own stupidity. During the very start of the school year, Byleth hunted down the Slithers, right from the source. She tore through their forces, the glassy eyed mages, the high ranked Slithers, the lumbering Titanus. Thales wasn’t there, as he was busy playing the role of Edelgard’s uncle.

Two weeks after the glowing underground, _alien_ raid, Byleth returned to the monastery, bloodied and bruised up. She passed out right in front of the poor gatekeeper. He was a nice kid, kind enough to bring her to Manuela.

Pushing herself, Byleth Warped all the way to Enbarr, a spell she nabbed from Lysithea, hair dyed dirt brown. She wore a black hood, _black everything,_ keeping the Creator sword in her convoy; as always. Byleth caught Thales alone after stalking him for about a full week. She sniped Thales, lodging an arrow into the back of his head. He slumped to the floor of the Imperial palace, blood soaking the deep red carpet and pristine blue flooring. 

Byleth sent herself back to Garreg Mach, heading down the underground passage. There, she found Monica lying on the ground, seemingly passed out. 

“Kid. Wake up.”

Monica’s fingers twitched, the same snow white fingers that killed Jeralt. Killed her Black Eagles. She slowly glanced up at Byleth, crimson eyes going wide in relief. The girl gasped, mouth curling into a cute, unassuming smile.

“You- you found me! Thank you so much! I’ve been down here for so _long._ ”

Monica’s voice ended in a bored drawl.

“You’ll stay down here.”

Monica looked positively _baffled_ by Byleth’s words.

“Kronya.”

Kronya’s red eyes flashed with something dark, much like a viper staring down its next meal. Byleth wasn’t really affected, blankly glaring right back.

“How do you know who I am?” 

Byleth took a step closer, “It’s a hunch, _Monica._ ”

Monica rose to her feet, raising her fists. She looked annoyed at the call of her fake name.

“You don’t have that dagger of yours?”

“How-”

“Good. I can work with that.”

Byleth slammed Monica into the stone wall behind her, watching pain flicker across the girl’s pale face.

“Just like anyone else, even me, you reap what you sow, Monica.”

Byleth’s gloved hands found Monica’s neck. The redhead kicked at Byleth, writhing and choking. Byleth squeezed tighter, half-smiling when Monica desperately tried to breathe. Her eyes slipped shut after a full minute and Byleth didn’t let go. The Crest of Flames bloomed on the nape of her neck, doing _much_ more damage to Monica. 

Byleth stepped away. Monica slumped to the ground, dead.

The sound of footsteps alerted Byleth, swiftly turning on her heel to find the noise. Linhardt flinched, eyes flying wide open in fear. He stared at Monica, then at Byleth for a moment. The boy fled within seconds, almost as fast as Felix.

Byleth sighed, using a Divine Pulse. She waited for nightfall to kill her target, _almost_ getting caught by Dimitri.

Byleth moved onto killing Tomas. All it really took was a sword to the throat. Byleth felt eyes on her, so she glanced back, finding Claude. The boy had an easy smile on his face, almost unbothered at the sight of a dead man. 

“You really hated old Tomas that much? Interesting.”

Claude raised his hands up in mock surrender, taking the quirk of Byleth’s eyebrows as a threat.

“You can trust me,” which Byleth _did,_ “I’ll hide the body for you, just keep that sword _far_ away from me.”

Byleth’s mouth opened and closed with a click.

“You’re bluffing.”

Claude’s eyes narrowed, dangerously. It was akin to treading paper thin ice, making sure the other would fall in freezing cold water below.

“I don’t think you’re in a position to call a bluff, _Byleth._ ”

“Claude. Listen.”

Claude barked out a laugh, “Are you going to kill me if I don’t?”

“What? _No._ ”

Claude shrugged, rolling his shoulders. He turned his back on Byleth, taking a dagger from his boot. The brunette looked back, his smile strained.

“I guess you saw me as a threat, too, eh? Killing me back in Derdriu with Ferdinand and Bernadetta.”

Byleth took a step back, breath caught in her throat. She used a Divine Pulse. Byleth killed Tomas again, changing locations. Lorenz found her dumping the body. 

Byleth killed Tomas a _third_ time, getting caught by a terrified Annette.

A fourth, and Cyril spotted the crime.

A fifth, and Byleth killed Tomas in the woods. Leonie was there.

A sixth and final attempt, Caspar ratted Byleth out. She let him.

A day went by and Byleth would be executed for her crimes.

The bright morning sun beamed down at Byleth, raining light on a scene she never would have expected. A sea of Garreg Mach students and townspeople surrounding a raised cobblestone platform, a guillotine on top of it. Byleth’s eyes flicked down at the wooden basket by her head, discomfort making her neck ache.

That would be remedied soon by a blade, so Byleth couldn’t really complain.

Rhea glided over to the platform, gracefully going up the short staircase. Her lime green eyes locked onto Byleth, still serene as ever. Rhea’s eyes subtly shifted into a stark look of disappointment, making Byleth’s heart _lurch._

“Good morning to you all, and thank you for attending.” Rhea announced, her calm voice coming out strong.

“Take this as a warning. Byleth Eisner has killed Volkhard von Arudel, Monica von Ochs, as well as Tomas, using the name of the Goddess to justify her crimes.”

Sothis scoffed, idly floating around Rhea, her words falling on deaf ears.

‘ _Those three were sinister, I could sense that very clearly! I do not blame you for killing them, truly! The rage you held for them is quite worrying, however._ ’

“The Goddess will cast judgement here and _now._ ”

‘ _I will most certainly not! Stop this, Rhea!_ ’

Rhea no longer addressed the crowd, staring directly into Byleth’s dark blue eyes.

“Do you have any last words, my dear child?”

Chills racked Byleth’s spine, going up and down her back. 

_Dear child._

_Dear child-_

A tear fell. Another. Two more, five more. Byleth wept for someone that forgot her.

She cried over a woman she once thought was unsettling, disturbing with that light smile on her face, wishing Byleth to be someone she _wasn’t._ Singing to her, nearly slipping up and hinting at the truth, making Byleth feel incredibly uneasy.

Byleth cried over a woman she _still_ believed was a fool marred by grief, a lonely, desperate woman unraveling the truth of the world, as per Claude’s _angry,_ uncharacteristically short tempered request. A race, a family _slaughtered_ and remade into rattling, pulsing bones, becoming Relics. One such Relic being the Lance of Ruin, refusing to hand it over in Byleth’s first life due to distrust and the much needed power for Sylvain. The brand new context made her feel sick to her stomach, understanding that Rhea just wanted her dead brother or sister back, understanding just _why_ Rhea was so upset.

Byleth stopped using Relics altogether in her third life after that.

Byleth sobbed over that _same_ woman, the stress of being captured by the Empire, the fact that Byleth _long_ since forgave her, breaking the camel’s back. Before her eyes, she watched a panicked, screaming Rhea transform against her will. She clung to life, _struggling_ and struggling to breathe evenly as she fought the Black Eagles. Her health deteriorated, but Byleth wouldn’t let her die. Rhea had to live with her mistakes, she deserved that second chance at a weightless life.

Byleth quietly wailed over Seiros, remembering how _terrifying_ and unhinged the woman was, willing to go down a road Dimitri had, even when _Edelgard_ gave her an out. She transformed, willingly, fighting to kill rather than survive to see a new day.

“I’m sorry.”

Byleth stared down at the ground, dyed brown hair falling over.

“I’m sorry, Rhea, I’m sorry. I’ll do better, I swear, I’ll do better next time.”

Byleth thought she heard a cold, enraged scoff. She turned her head, seeing Dimitri and the two other House leaders in the crowd. He met her eyes, scowling at her. Giving her the same exact look he did to Solon, after she failed to rescue _any_ of the Remire villagers. Madness seeped into his bones, rolling off of him in violent, oppressive waves. Dimitri clenched his jaw, baby blue eyes _wild_ with fury. The light in his eyes died out, a deranged little smile reaching his pale face.

Byleth glanced away, grimacing. 

Claude’s expression really wasn’t any better. Disgust was plainly written on his light skinned face, glittering gemstones for eyes alight with true emotion. Clear cut contempt that seemed to grow the more they stared at each other.

At least Edelgard didn’t look all too affected, glancing at Byleth as if she was an idiot, _knowing_ exactly _who_ she murdered. 

“May you rest, my child.”

The heavy blade was brought down, slicing Byleth’s head clean off.

* * *

A nameless blue haired figure awoke in the Holy Tomb, gloved hand rubbing the back of their neck with a wince. They sat on the floor, just blankly staring at nothing. Their long hair spilled over their shoulders, covering their face.

“You there, what is your name?” Sothis asked.

The person let out a strangled laugh. They didn’t raise their head.

“I don’t want to give up yet. I can’t.” 

The person’s voice was an odd mix of masculine and feminine, making it even more impossible to figure out their gender. It was quiet, on the verge on a devastated spiral.

“Give up what?”

“It’s nothing, Sothis, I’ll just do it again.”

“So,” Sothis paused, face scrunching up in confusion, “this?”

“Sothis.” Sothis echoed quietly, lime green eyes widening to the size of dinner plates.

A tear lined her right eye. It fell, trailing down her cheek. Sothis sat still on her throne, staring at the blue haired person. Her breath hitched. She shot up from her seat, running faster and faster down the stone stairs. Her bare feet slapped against each step until she began to float half way down the staircase. Sothis jet towards the human, green light rapidly trailing and twinkling behind her.

Sothis cried, tightly holding onto the blue haired figure as she crashed into them. 

“ _JUSTIN_!”

They flinched, a more genuine, disbelieving laugh falling from their lips. The figure slowly glanced up, meeting Sothis’ eyes.

“You remember? How mu-”

“Of course I remember, you fool!”

Sothis sighed, her voice going soft, “Of _course_ I remember.”

“I missed you, Sothis. _I’m-_ ” their voice broke, shattering like glass, “I’m so _happy._ ”

“I have missed you, too, Just-”

“It’s Byleth now, as much as I still hate it.”

“That is unbelievably counterproductive.”

“My existence would like to agree.”

“Hmph! You have a sense of humor now?” 

Byleth shrugged, slumping forward in Sothis’ hold.

“Will I mess up again? I don’t- I _can’t-_ ”

“We simply have to draw twenty five and wait for the moment to bring our cards to zero. With the fluctuations you have created by manipulating time, things _may_ end up shattering _many_ pre-existing fates.”

The blood drained from Byleth’s face, dread and panic replacing it.

“Hush, child. Not in a _bad_ sense, some good or unexpected events may unfold, I believe.”

Sothis’ eyes gave off a faint glow, “With your will and mine, _nothing_ can stop us. I can promise you that, Byleth.”

“Your, no, _our_ problem children, our allies will _not_ fall.”

Sothis let go of Byleth, smirking up at them. She snapped her fingers, the noise resounding _loudly_ in the empty room. For a moment, it was eerily quiet.

Wind violently whipped around them, disturbing the small balls of green light floating in the dark. The wind pressure _sharply_ increased, starting from the floor, spiking like a cyclone. 

Thousands of twinkling golden stars materialized into the Holy Tomb, pinned to the endless dark void where the ceiling would be. They gradually began to fall, raining down like light snowfall.

“Wait-” Byleth started to shout, alarm clear in their voice.

_Don’t leave me, not when we just-_

Sothis tsked, shaking her head. She furrowed her brows, watching as Byleth’s hair and eyes changed color. Light green. 

The wind died down and the gold light vanished. Sothis remained in front of Byleth, much to their surprise. She smiled warmly at them.

“Let us begin again, with a few more perks.”

* * *

Byleth’s eyes fluttered open. They quietly sighed, fishing out the ribbon in their coat pocket. Byleth closed a fist around the ribbon and stared forward, meeting Jeralt’s eyes. They put it back in their pocket.

“Kid? You alright?”

Byleth got up from their bed, walking over to Jeralt and closing the gap. They hugged him. They hugged him, terrified of letting go, terrified of a nightmare becoming reality _again._

Byleth rarely hugged their father, even after they saw him _alive_ in each timeline. It hurt. It scared them, knowing that Jeralt would end up dead regardless of what Byleth did. 

Byleth missed their dad.

Byleth held onto Jeralt tighter, trembling with each breath they took. There was a sense of a pit lodging into Byleth’s stomach, their still heart dropping like a heavy training weight. Panic flooded their senses, chanting over and over just how _wrong_ this was. 

Non-existent rain pelted Byleth’s body, drenching them to the bone. It was Byleth’s fresh tears to become the rain first, dripping onto Jeralt’s bloodied clothes, tiny pitiful sounds leaving their throat. They held onto Jeralt, hugging a dying man.

Jeralt smiled, he smiled as widely he could manage at Byleth’s tears. Knowing they cared so much for him, _finally_ displaying emotion in the worst situation possible.

Jeralt drew his last breath and Sothis cried, clouding over the sky with muted grays, light rainfall quickly getting heavy, almost in an instant.

Byleth wasn’t the same after that, hardly leaving their room, hardly eating or sleeping. They left only to teach before Manuela and Hanneman took on their work. Byleth cried when they first got back to the monastery, Sothis allowing them to strip away their Ashen Demon persona. She let them sob and scream like a newborn baby, consoling them without being able to touch them. 

Revenge was quick to settle in Byleth’s war zone of a head, watching Kronya snicker in the Sealed Forest, taunting them and their Blue Lions about the forest becoming a bloody resting place.

Kronya died by Solon’s hand, leaving Byleth to feel empty.

A large calloused hand wove into Byleth’s midnight blue hair, ruffling the top of their head. Byleth slowly glanced up, holding back a flinch.

“What’s the matter, kid? Was it that dream again?”

Byleth shook their head, “I’ll tell you later, I think. But. I _love_ you, Dad. I love you.”

An owlish look crossed Jeralt’s face, quickly softening over.

“Love you too, By. Come on, we got to head for the Kingdom.”

Byleth nodded, knowing that they’d _never_ go to Faerghus. They let go of Jeralt, slowly eyeing the pounding wooden door. Jeralt stood straighter, quirking up a brow. He gave Byleth a look, as if to say ‘What now?’ Byleth cracked a smile, glancing back.

One of Jeralt’s mercenaries, Taunes greeted the pair in a frantic rush. Time and time again, bandits were here, pursuing three little lords. 

Byleth saw the three of them once more. Leaves and tiny twigs covered Claude’s hair. He took a ragged breath of air, due to how fast and far he ran. He heaved a sigh and then a groan soon after. Dimitri and Edelgard looked virtually untouched, aside from a few dirt stains and shallow cuts. 

Byleth’s eyes glazed over as the trio explained the situation. They nodded, eyeing Remire woods in the distance.

“Jeralt.”

“What, kid?”

“Two favors. Hand me your best lance and a bow. Keep the kids back, I can handle the bandits.”

“You got it, just be careful.”

From the nearby convoy, Jeralt gave Byleth the requested weapons. A shining silver lance and a steel bow. 

“Are you certain you don’t need any assistance? Fighting those bandits all on your own is a troubling thought.” Dimitri said, clearly worried as Byleth began to walk away.

“She,” Edelgard started in a questioning tone, “is a mercenary. She must be confident in her skills to handle them alone.”

“Wait, _she?_ I thought she was a man! But, I got a little scheme up my sleeve. Here me out,” Claude’s voice lowered to a whisper, “let’s watch ‘em fight, yeah?”

The trio darted off after Byleth disappeared into the woods.

* * *

“Ha! I was correct to call them problem children! The little ducklings have followed you.” Sothis announced with a sharp laugh, floating as she glanced back to see the three lords.

Byleth rolled their eyes, shaking their head. _Clearly_ led by Claude, the royal trio hid away in thickets, sneaking ever closer towards their soon to be professor. Claude sat in a tree, hanging upside down. He dropped to the ground as Byleth walked farther off. Dimitri took to hilariously hugging the same tree, keeping his face away. Edelgard’s hiding place was fairly good, save for her snow white hair giving her away.

The fondness thrumming in Byleth’s body simmered and died out. A frown etched their pale face as they tightly gripped the pole of their lance.

“It does not get any easier, does it? To see them unblemished by war, to know what may happen to them.” 

Byleth stopped in their tracks.

Images flooded their head and Byleth _desperately_ tried to ignore them. Colorful little papers slammed into their brain with each fading memory, notes on every one.

A wide smile cracking Dimitri’s face, azure eyes crinkling in pure _delight._ He laughed, disturbing everyone around him. In the same breath, he merely said he was _so_ very _happy_ to get the chance to crush Edelgard’s skull. Sick _boiling_ tension seeped into his skin, making the boy Byleth thought she knew positively _vibrate_ with excitement akin to opening a present on your birthday. 

An orange paper note came with it, ink messily blotting it. The handwriting was mostly chicken scratch, almost wild and unreadable. ‘So, tell me, am I truly safe **(or are you lying to help yourself)**?’

A slew of notes covered Dimitri’s face, shifting into a brand new image. A black gloved hand holding Byleth’s, tan skin and brown hair messed by dirt and grime. Claude grinned at her, laughing in disbelief. A green note settled in the middle of their handshake. The handwriting was neat, with some words being crossed out or smothered by raining ink bleed. ‘Did my faith and trust mean so little ( ** ~~when you shot me dead~~ when you rewound time and cried for me)**?’

A crying Edelgard stood on the wet, bloodied dirt of Tailtean Plains. A blue note hid her face from view. ‘If you truly wished to walk with me **(why did you condemn yourself to a personal grave)**?’

“Byleth.” Sothis called, bringing them out of their spiraling thoughts.

“We have bandits to rout, focus on defeating them.”

Byleth sighed. They stared ahead, watching the lone bandit from several feet away. The man looked around, somewhat alert. A sword rested in his hand, the tip digging into the dirt. Byleth’s eyebrows knitted in confusion when they overheard him complain.

“Boss is runnin’ me into the ground, ugh. Ambushin’ kids and killing ‘em, huh?”

_I don’t remember my hearing being this good. I’ll find out later._

Byleth strolled forward, startling the man. He eyed the lance in Byleth’s hands, raising his iron sword.

“Hey! Who _are_ you?”

Byleth blinked. 

“Byleth. Byleth Eisener.”

The man paled, mouth falling wide open. His light brown eyes widened in fear. Recognition.

“What?” Byleth asked, entirely lost at the man’s reaction.

“You-! _You’re_ the Ashen Demon! Stay away! _Go!_ ”

_The what?_

“Huh? I don’t follow.”

The bandit took a step back, “Did you hit your head as a kid or somethin’?”

“I don’t remember. Anyway, can you take me to your boss?”

“What?! _No_ thank you!”

“You should have said yes.”

A squeak left the bandit’s mouth. He steeled himself for a moment, sharply inhaling through his nose. The man blindly charged forward, yelling out a terrified battlecry. He slashed his sword, leaving himself with too many openings. Byleth twirled around him, facing his back. They quickly jabbed the butt of the lance into his lower back. He fell to the ground, rolling to dodge another strike. Byleth frowned, slamming the lance blade into the dirt, a mere inch from the bandit’s head.

“Goodbye.”

Byleth snapped their fingers. A red sigil formed in front of them, summoning crackling dark blue electricity. It trailed after the man’s blade, shocking his entire body. He passed out.

_This is new. I can use Reason magic already?_

‘ _Did you forget what I told you? I would think you a goldfish for your poor memory!_ ’

_Goldfish are really good at remembering things._

‘ _Byleth. We are not having this discussion._ ’

_I like goldfish._

A sigh left Sothis’ mouth, ‘ _I know Byleth._ ’

_Do goldfish get sad, Sothis?_

‘ _I swear to myself! Focus! Stop thinking about fish!_ ’

_Yeah, I know. I’m just trying to distract myself, that’s all._

Byleth gripped the pole and ripped the lance out. They dashed into the woods, closing in on the nearby trio of bandits. Byleth took care of them, marching onwards to Kostas. 

“Hey! You with the blank stare, outta the way!”

Byleth rose an eyebrow, saying nothing. Kostas glared, charging towards Byleth. They intercepted his axe with the pole, roughly pushing him back. Byleth shifted their stance, slowly raising their arm and pulling the limb back. They aimed the silver lance at Kostas’ chest. 

A memory ripped at Byleth’s head.

It was late at night and everyone retired to their old dorm rooms. Even Felix, who was nowhere to be seen in the training grounds. Byleth closed her eyes and reopened them, aiming her plain steel bow at the training dummy in front of her. Just before she could shoot it, a pair of light footsteps alerted her. She lowered her bow, looking over her shoulder. A small grin was painted on her face as Claude casually strolled up to her.

“Burning the midnight oil, Teach?”

Byleth nodded, setting her gaze back on the dummy. 

“You should sleep, Claude.”

“I would, trust me! Unfortunately for me, my mind is keeping me awake.”

Byleth snorted. She let a wooden arrow loose, watching the arrowhead knock into the training dummy’s straw head.

“What got you into archery, Teach?”

Byleth nocked another arrow onto the bow, shooting once more.

“Everyone else. Most of the Golden Deer, including Ferdinand, have a bow on hand.”

“That’s true. Though, Ferdinand with an upgraded Killer Bow is _something._ ”

“Yeah.”

Claude hummed, watching Byleth practice. He clicked his tongue.

“What?”

“As light on your feet you are, it doesn’t translate to your archery. Give me your bow for a second, will you?”

Byleth stopped, lowering her bow to the ground and handing it over.

“Now it’s time _I_ teach you something. It’s something I learned from the east, my friend, as well as _years_ of practice. Watch.”

Claude loosened up, putting his right foot forward and his left back. He shot an arrow, winking when it hit the center. Claude shot another, posture relaxed and motions lightning quick.

“Think of shooting an arrow like how you wield a lance, my friend.”

“I get it.”

“Yeah? That’s good!” Claude exclaimed with a bright smile.

Byleth glanced at Claude with an impish grin on her face, “I just have to copy you.”

Claude sputtered, green eyes crinkling as a laugh spilled out of his mouth.

Byleth returned to the present, clenching their jaw. 

“Judgement is _passed_!” Byleth screamed.

Without a second thought, they chucked the silver lance. It flew forward with startling speed. Byleth snapped their fingers, sparking the lance blade with a roaring flame. The flaming lance _slammed_ into Kostas, knocking him down with a heavy thud. Byleth paced over to Kostas, lightly kicking the man’s side. The man didn’t move.

“Is he dead?”

‘ _No, he is only unconscious. He should wake up shortly._ ’

Byleth retrieved their lance. The Fire spell long since died out. Kostas awoke, jumping to his feet. Byleth ignored the threats rapidly falling from his lips.

“Do you have a kid, Kostas?” 

Kostas gave Byleth a wide eyed look.

“You freakin’ bastard! How did-”

“Do you have a kid?”

“What if I _do,_ huh?!”

“Go to your kid. If not, he’ll _never_ see you again.”

“You threatening me?”

“Knocking you out was a _warning._ Heed it or become number one hundred and nineteen.”

Kostas went quiet.

“Your son, he’s in Enbarr, right?”

“How- _how-_ ”

“Duncan. That’s his name, I think. I can kill him instead if you want.”

Genuine fear flashed on Kostas’ face, draining away his aggression all in one go.

“ _Don’t._ Don’t kill him, he’s only seven!”

“I’ve killed kids before, it’s no problem, really.”

Byleth killed their former students. Their first life, fumbling around and unable to recruit _every_ single student. Their last, siding with Edelgard and drawing a line in the sand.

Byleth cried as a spider lily grew in each student’s chest, roots sinking into their skin and ripping the flesh apart. The flowers bloomed into a field, leeching the life from their bodies. 

“I can just Warp over there,” Byleth flipped their left hand, ready to snap their fingers, “and-”

“ _No!_ I’ll go! I’ll go, just don’t kill my kid!”

A smile slowly crept up on Byleth’s pale face. A little too wide, and perhaps unsettling, judging by Kostas’ fearful reaction.

“It was just a logical ruse. Killing kids would give me nightmares, after all.”

Kostas _immediately_ ran away. Byleth watched him go. Three pairs of footsteps caught Byleth’s attention. They turned to the trio, waving.

“I have _so_ many questions for you!” Claude cheered.

“Yes, that strength and magic prowess would be a wonderful asset to the Kingdom, if you wish, to, ah, my apologies. Is my request too forward?”

Strangely, Edelgard cast a distrustful look at Byleth, not assessing their value like she had done previously.

“Do I have something on my face?” Byleth asked.

Edelgard narrowed her pale lilac eyes, glaring Byleth down.

“You’re no ordinary mercenary.” Edelgard replied with a hint of venom.

The very same venom laced in Edelgard’s resolute voice when she declared she would rid Fódlan of its false goddess and her followers. The voice of someone who would _never_ yield, even if she had nothing to stand on, even when she drew her last breath.

“I guess not. Most mercenaries don’t like ribbons.”

Befuddlement colored Edelgard’s face, and it only grew as Byleth pulled out the blue ribbon from their coat pocket. A delicate smile reached Byleth’s face.

“It’s the simplest thing, but it keeps me going,” Byleth stared at the ribbon, “a friend of mine gave it to me. And I haven’t let go of it since.”

The lords peered at it, curious.

“Who’s your friend?” Claude questioned.

“A stubborn mule, that’s who. To be honest, I hardly understood her at first, I even hated her, too. That changed a bit, I think. I didn’t like any of her choices, but when she cried over someone she didn’t know, I started liking her then.”

“Sheesh, talk about complicated. Here’s another question! That stance you used, where’d you learn it?”

Claude seemed a little more suspicious, calculating.

“Huh? Oh, that? From a dancer.”

Claude furrowed his eyebrows, “A dancer?”

“Mhm.”

Dimitri shyly stared at Byleth, clearly wanting to ask a question, too. Byleth nodded, allowing him. A pink blush faintly scattered across his cheeks.

“Well, it is only now that I have noticed. Your skill with a lance is _phenomenal,_ almost as though it is a part of you. I can say it resembles my abilities, yet it is _far_ more fluid, even better than my own! I must know, where did you learn this?”

“Someone great.” Byleth replied with a small grin.

The three lords only seemed lost or unsatisfied by Byleth’s answers. Byleth stood straight, overhearing Alois’ voice boom in the woods and getting closer by the minute. Jeralt came in tow, resigning into his fate of talking with Alois.

* * *

“Will you be able to teach the Blue Lions, Professor?” Seteth inquired with a judgmental glint in his dark green eyes.

Byleth was _never_ bothered by Seteth’s initial feelings, it made complete sense to them in their first life. A mercenary with the moniker of the Ashen Demon, nothing more than an unemotive sellsword who was chosen to _teach_ by Rhea. A stranger without a background, not even an _age._ If Byleth could have smiled then, they would have. Seteth _really_ cared for these kids.

Byleth did, too.

“Yes. I can, you have my word.”

Seteth didn’t expect Byleth’s sure fire response, surprise flashing on his face for a moment. He schooled his expression, slowly nodding.

“I shall hold you to that. Now,” Seteth took a glance at Byleth’s hair, his eyes trailing down to their hidden ears, “Archbishop Rhea and I have something else to discuss with you, if you do not mind.”

“Now? I have to speak with Jeralt, he’s worried about me.”

“Then, we can converse later. Do well to guide your students, Professor.”

Byleth nodded, taking their leave. They quickly found Jeralt in his quarters, popping open a bottle of beer. 

“You wanted to talk?” Byleth greeted.

“Yeah, kid. It’s like you changed overnight. You’ve never learned how to use a lance or bow before, and now you’re a natural. You never even studied Reason magic! Not even just that, but you’ve never really smiled like that. What happened to you, By?”

_Should I tell him, Sothis? Should I tell him everything?_

‘ _It would be foolish of me to ask if you can trust your father. I will say, you have plenty of attempts to try._ ’

_He should know._

Byleth held out their hand, summoning a Silence spell near the door.

“Okay. The truth is - I’m a time traveler.”

“What?”

“I’ll start from the very beginning, just hand me the entire bottle.”

In the end, Jeralt did not hand over his alcohol, and instead became a shoulder to cry on. He listened to Byleth as they broke down in tears, tightly wrapping them in a firm bear hug.

* * *

“Good morning fellow kids.” Byleth blandly greeted the Blue Lions.

As always, they looked shocked, not expecting Byleth to be their professor. Nonetheless, they eagerly replied.

“With introductions out of the way, I have something to ask of you. Tell me your goals, the things you _really_ want to do.”

Sylvain stepped up to the plate, winking at Byleth with an all too fake smile on his face. His honey brown eyes remained dark, keenly watching them.

“I’m thinking a little _short term_ goal is in order, Professor. Are you avai- _Ingrid-!_ Ow, ow, okay, I’m sorry!”

Sylvain earned a harsh whack to the back of his head, stopping his empty proposal. His sweet, sugary tone was thrown out the window once Ingrid hit him, stripping away his mask for a moment.

“Yes, I’ll be available Monday, Tuesday and Friday after class for about two hours. If that does not fit your schedule, I’ll adjust my office hours. And Sylvain?”

“Yes, Professor?”

Sylvain’s flirtatious tone was back in full force, even when the threat of Ingrid herself loomed behind him.

“I don’t date my students. If you don’t have a long or short term goal in mind, that’s fine. There’s nothing wrong in not knowing.”

A second ticked by and Sylvain’s eyes grew warmer. A low candle lit fire flickered in them, re-evaluating Byleth. It steadily died out, turning into faint, barely there embers. The same embers Byleth saw once the _real_ Sylvain was revealed when the other shoe dropped, dark red wine filling a glass, light _finally_ passing through it. Jealousy and something _far_ darker settled in his eyes as he spoke, staring down Byleth as he offhandedly said she should _pay_ for having a Crest, that he hated her for it. Then, the moment was gone and he laughed.

The unflappable Ashen Demon was _terrified,_ not expecting one of her students to say something like that. For a while, she was convinced that Sylvain really did hate her, making her feel- _uncomfortable? Sad?_ Emotions were still fairly new to her, at the time.

It came to a head, those embers resurfacing and promptly turning into ash at Tailtean Plains. They were strangers, or at least to Sylvain, they were. Sylvain painted a smile on his face, too wide and too tight to even be real. Nothing like the tender smiles he’d give to his friends, or the blindly bright grins he had around a grumpy Felix. It didn’t reach his eyes until he glared at Morighan, brown eyes briefly alight with rage.

It hurt. 

“Oh. I guess I can do whatever I want?” Sylvain answered Byleth, incredibly unsure. 

Sylvain sounded lost, as if he never had another option to take. Like a puppy waiting for its owner, even if they never returned.

Felix scoffed, “He would just keep flirting with _girls._ ”

Even though Felix was alive and _mostly_ well, Byleth still couldn’t bear to look at him. As if fighting, admittedly one of their favorite students wasn’t enough, the moment the Imperial army left the city turned battlefield, Thales unleashed a slew of javelins of light, reducing everything- _everyone_ to ash.

Byleth still didn’t know which was worst, recruiting Felix into another House, watching him crumble with grief over Dimitri’s death or killing him in Arianrhod and becoming _nothing_ but dried blood and dust.

“And what about you, what’s your goal, Felix?” Byleth asked, trying to remain calm.

“Becoming the best swordsman in Fódlan. Don’t disappoint me.”

Ironically, that achievement had gone to Sylvain when Byleth sided with the Church.

“I do not disappoint, Felix, so you’re in luck.”

The other Lions told Byleth their goals, some hurting harder, knowing where those goals led.

Sticking to Dimitri’s side like glue, getting closer and closer in one life, only to have his king die in his arms in another.

Finding someone, a _father,_ who in one life, they _did_ find, they did repair their relationship. But in another, watching that same father retreat from Gronder Field, die there, or lose his life alongside Ashe.

Byleth only knew it would hurt far more, seeing the Golden Deer, too.

Especially Marianne.

* * *

Since Byleth was _extremely_ close with everyone in previous lives, it offered them a chance to recruit other students and staff into the Blue Lions. The Black Eagles filed in the class, getting a warm welcome from _mostly_ everyone, of course, except Felix and Sylvain. The former was as prickly as ever, while the latter mindlessly chatted up Dorothea and Petra, brown eyes dead as a fish. Sylvain didn’t ignore Bernadetta, nor did he flirt away, and instead was rather genuine with her. 

Sylvain _quickly_ halted his advances due to three unfortunate events. Flirting with Petra got him into a confrontation with both Linhardt and Caspar, the magic user giving him a bone tired yet brutally honest verbal lashing and Caspar _almost_ fighting the redhead noble. Ferdinand’s reaction to Sylvain was still shocking, given what Byleth knew about him. For a second, it seemed like Ferdinand would get into a heated argument or even a fight, but the moment passed. Ferdinand took Sylvain out of class, politely excusing himself. After a good ten or fifteen minutes, the noble pair came back in _tears._ They were smiling, though. Sylvain choked out a wet laugh, rapidly ruffling Ferdinand’s neat hair in a successful attempt to ruin it. Ferdinand squawked, _rolling_ his eyes and simply let it happen.

The _third_ event occurred about two months later. Felix was getting distracted in class, gaining a glassy look in his eyes. He would stare head on at Sylvain, blankly, until _something_ sparked in his maple brown eyes. Something that scared Byleth.

The same look Felix had on his face when Dimitri fell at Gronder. His haughty, sharp voice going out like a blown candle, formerly strong as he mentioned Dimitri being alive, virtually uncaring if he was or not. 

Dimitri was killed and Byleth never wanted to hear Felix’s voice sound so _small._ Night fell and Felix stayed in his room for days, alone. In the dark. Felix “bounced back” and went back to normal with a sense of vengeance crawling along his skin. With a thrill to chase, hoping to fight Nemesis and keeping his _true_ reason under wraps, Byleth set him as Claude’s adjutant, the _most_ she could do for Felix.

Reaching a breaking point, Felix had confronted Sylvain about his behavior in the training grounds. After that, the pair became a couple.

But, for _some_ strange reason, the Golden Deer weren’t budging. Even getting closer to them, becoming a parental figure wasn’t enough to sway _any_ of them.

The dread and searing panic Byleth felt in their first life reared its ugly head, mocking them. Byleth was too _late_ the first time, not getting most or all of the requirements to snag the Deer into the Blue Lions. The days before Edelgard’s attack loomed over the horizon, and the _only_ Golden Deer member Byleth was able to recruit was Ignatz.

He was the only Deer left alive during the war, aside from his leader who jet across the sky.  
Byleth regretted it, _especially_ after Derdriu. 

Byleth would ask again, even though they knew each Deer’s answer, a resounding ‘no.’ 

Sunday morning came and Byleth wandered around the monastery, increasingly anxious. They found Marianne tending to her favorite horse, Dorte, softly talking to her.

“Hi, Dorte. Um, I’m going to talk about the same thing again, if that’s okay. Everyone is so nice to me, even though, um, I don’t really deserve it. Oh, um, and I made Claude smile today. It was really nice,” Marianne’s voice turned sweeter, “he has a warm smile, I think he should show it more.”

Marianne pet Dorte, laughing quietly.

“And yesterday, I talked to Leonie about horses, um, about you. She said she likes you, so that’s nice. Ignatz showed me the sky, too. Lorenz is really kind, too, it might not seem that way, but he is! Really. He told me I’m fine the way I am, I don’t understand it, but he smiled when he said that. And Hilda takes the time to deal with me, even when I mess up, and Lys- Oh! I’m sorry, I’m rambling.”

Byleth strolled further into the stables, “Hello Marianne, how are you?”

Marianne jumped, turning to Byleth with a wide-eyed look.

“Good morning, Professor. I’m, um, okay.”

Byleth smiled, ignoring the lone image staining their brain, “That’s wonderful. Are you sure you don’t want to join my class?”

“Um, I’m sorry, I don’t think I can.”

“Don’t apologize, I understand, Marianne. The Golden Deer is where you belong.”

A rose petal blush flooded Marianne’s pale face, “Y-You think so?”

“Of course I do.”

Marianne bloomed into a small, delicate flower, strong in her own right under the Golden Deer’s care and love. 

That flower was crushed in a previous life before it could grow.

Byleth kept smiling, waving to Marianne as they slinked away to their room. They tightly shut their eyes, collapsing onto the floor, pounding a fist into the slightly dusty floorboard.

Byleth let the memory smash into their skull, oozing into their brain and never letting go.

Claude stood in front of Byleth and Dimitri, understanding the latter’s turmoil far better than _any_ of his Lions, giving him much needed advice.

“Thanks for saving me back there, I appreciate it,” Claude smiled, a genuine, small thing, “but, I _kind_ of need to do something with your help.”

Dimitri blinked, agreeing without a second thought with a light grin. It made Claude laugh a bit. The shorter man shook his head, smile dimming by the minute.

“The Golden Deer are,” Claude knitted his brows, grimacing, “more or less dead. Even Hilda. Ignatz is _thankfully_ alive, so that only leaves one. Marianne. I just want to check up on her before I leave, if that’s alright with you, Teach.”

Byleth had a _very_ bad feeling about this.

“Of course. Do you have an idea where she would be?”

“Probably House Edmund. That’s my best bet, anyway.”

After double checking Derdriu for damages and possible repairs, the Blue Lions and Claude were off to House Edmund. The mansion was fairly modest, not overbearing in the slightest. The white brick walls, deep blue roof and sprawling flowers were rather inviting. Byleth and Claude were invited inside by Margrave Edmund, his face brightening up in relief when they mentioned Marianne.

He worriedly claimed Marianne had locked herself in her room. When questioned, he said he was _never_ able to open the door.

Which was how the duo found themselves in front of a chipped dark blue wooden door. Byleth narrowed her mint green eyes.

“It’s sealed. With magic.”

Claude’s head whipped to Byleth, “ _What?_ But why?”

Byleth _still_ couldn’t get a read on Claude, but the man seemed to have a frisson of fear in his eyes. It died out, turning his eyes into glassy marble.

Byleth grabbed the Sword of the Creator from her side, tightly gripping the bone hilt.

“We’re coming in, okay!” Claude exclaimed as Byleth destroyed the door with one slash of the Creator sword. 

The door fell with a thud, flashing golden sigil withering away. 

Byleth’s heart sunk into her stomach, nearly dropping her sword. 

Light poured from the window across from them, dust aimlessly floating in the air. The bright light rained down like a beacon, putting the scene before Byleth and Claude into the spotlight. 

A skeleton hung by a rope from the ceiling. Its skull lolled to the side, neck broken around a formerly tight noose. It wore a light blue nightgown and its black shoes slipped off onto the floor, caked with dust. 

Neither of the two moved.

For a second, it seemed like Claude’s hands were shaking. He raised his hands to take out his lone earring, setting it down onto the dusty floorboards with a loud _click._ The former House leader stared at the remains for a long moment, dipping his head down and turning on his heel. He walked out of the room with even, measured steps.

By the time Byleth could see his face, whatever expression he wore vanished into his default fake smile and blank eyes. 

They left, and Byleth never saw Claude again in that life.

Byleth then taught the Golden Deer, getting closer to the students she watched die. Getting closer to Claude, to the point where they became friends. After Jeralt was killed, Byleth had asked Claude about his earring.

Claude didn’t dodge the question, answering her honestly.

Earrings were important in the east; in Almyra, Byleth would later learn. They celebrated different stages in life, as well as relationships. Death was, of course, one of them. A person would be buried with their earrings, and if that person didn’t wear one, their closest friend would offer their own. 

It hurt more when Marianne told Byleth she was once suicidal. It hurt when Byleth realized those same even footsteps were hardly stable, in reality.

‘ _Byleth, do not fret. Surely, there must be a reason why the Deer continue to refuse you._ ’

_They’ll die, they’re all going to die, I can’t-_

‘ _Go rest, Byleth._ ’

_I-_

‘ _ **Go to bed and sleep.**_ ’

Like a puppet on a string, Byleth followed Sothis’ command.

* * *

The days flew by and the Golden Deer continued to stick together like glue. 

In hindsight, the answer was fairly obvious. 

The wide, open mouth grin on Claude’s face, emerald eyes shimmering with barely contained glee. When he looked at his Deer, the boy practically _shined,_ holding out his hand towards the sun and grasping it between his fingers. He held that sun so gently, embracing it without giving caution to the wind. Claude came _alive_ with his Golden Deer, falling head over heels for each member.

It reminded Byleth of the time they fought Nemesis, each Deer fighting through the Ten Elites to reach him. Claude interrupted Nemesis’ singing with his _own,_ practically screaming over him with a mix of disbelief and excitement. As Nemesis was busy hunting down Hilda, the Golden Deer managed to _break_ his weapon, rendering him defenseless. They cornered him, no longer fearful of his devastating strength. Claude landed the final blow with the Sword of the Creator, stabbing Nemesis in the forehead as he fell from the sky; Reason magic fading into a gentle breeze. 

They were all in love with each other, handing out their hearts and becoming _far_ closer than they were during the war. 

They gave each other a purpose, accepting each other. 

Claude had fallen in love with yet _another_ person, a little while after he sorted out his feelings for his Deer. 

Dimitri.

Things changed as a result, subtle until the very end.

* * *

Thales’ siege occurred, much like Byleth’s sixth attempt, _however,_ Edelgard had given Dimitri and Claude a warning. That never happened before.

It may not given them _enough_ time, but Byleth was determined to prepare their kids. They cheated a little, getting them into tip-top shape, achieving high skill ranks that they earned in other lives. Byleth began to bum rush through the Slithers’ forces, hoping to reach Thales and the rest of his notable members. Dimitri eventually entered the fray, greatly helping Byleth’s anxiety. If he caught up to them, Byleth _knew_ he'd discover the Flame Emperor’s true identity. 

Byleth knew it wouldn’t end well.

Luckily for them, that reveal never happened.

_Sothis! I want to know how my kids are doing, show me?_

Byleth’s eyes flickered mint green as they dodged a Bolting spell from afar.

The Blue Lions were holding their own, but had close brushes with death. Sylvain lost an arm, Annette took a devastating magic spell, almost killing her. Ashe nearly fell to his death and Ingrid could have died to an axe.

The Golden Deer and Black Eagles tore through the Slithers, with some being _incredibly_ close calls.

In Byleth’s mind, they saw the Golden Deer scatter into small groups. Hilda, Marianne and Lorenz fought incoming reinforcements. Hilda took the brunt of the attacks, becoming a _fierce_ shield for her lovers, swinging around and raising an upgraded Bolt Axe to the sky. She swapped it for a Brave Axe on occasion. Lorenz baited out the Slithers, drawing them away from Marianne and closer to Hilda. Marianne worked to heal Hilda and used Reason magic to pick off enemy mages.

Ignatz, Leonie, Lysithea and Raphael supported each other without saying a single word. Raphael dove head first into battle, tearing through enemy lines with upgraded Killer Knuckles. The others were directly behind him, shooting arrows or magic spells before the Slithers could even _touch_ Raphael. Ignatz flipped and twirled, upgraded Wo Dao in hand, slicing away and drawing back. Lysithea sniped mounted lancers with a couple Dark Spike T’s while Leonie killed with a _training bow._ They later split off into even smaller groups, helping out the other Houses when no more Slithers appeared in their area.

The Black Eagles split as well. Ferdinand and Dorothea clung together, with Ferdinand left grounded and Dorothea mounting his wyvern. Ferdinand struck _gold,_ shooting arrows as if he did it for _years_ \- which he technically did. The boy was absolutely _lethal_ with a pair of upgraded Killer Bows, killing a target _instantly_ or just with a powerful projectile to the head. With every yell of his name, it sounded more and more like a threat. He became sluggish, covered in his own blood and bruises. The blazing fire in his eyes had yet to die out, beating the Slithers to the punch when they approached him. Dorothea wielded a Devil Axe, unable to wear her steel gauntlets. She swung it downward as Ferdinand’s wyvern flew low onto the ground, killing most enemies in a single blow. 

Petra, Caspar and Linhardt were surrounded but _not_ down for the count. Caspar rushed to the front lines _despite_ gaining his high ranked Reason and Faith skills back. He fired off his basic and advanced Reason magic, _easily_ taking care of heavy armored Slithers. Caspar danced and twirled, quick and aggressive steps to evade attacks, old muscle memory reigniting. Petra dismounted from her wyvern, dodging and weaving attacks like the wind, swapping weapons around. Although she had a sword, lance and axe, she favored the steel bow slung on her back. Linhardt was more or less a dead weight, but helped the pair when they were in a pinch. 

Hubert and Bernadetta stood back to back, covering for each other. Hubert wielded a Brave sword, mostly for show and easier evasion. The man summoned spell after spell to kill a slew of Slithers, an ice cold look settling on his _already_ sinister expression. Unbeknownst to him, Hubert incorporated a few dance steps in his deadly movements. With a Wo Dao in hand, Bernadetta became a distraction, a _trap_ for the Slithers that thought they could _win_ against her. She was frighteningly quick on her feet, taking down anyone who slipped past Hubert.

The images burned into the back of Byleth’s mind once Claude dropped dead on the ground. They watched Dimitri shatter in front of them, _losing_ it. It was worse, _far_ worse than his breakdown at the Holy Tomb, or even the first few months they reunited during the war.

It was startlingly clear _why._ Dimitri had given Claude his heart, possibly from the get go, and Claude nurtured him, he _became_ his guide, ever faithful and patient, much like how Byleth was Dimitri’s sole beacon of light during the war - both in his head and the one they were fighting.

If Claude was the one to hold the sun in his arms, Dimitri was the one to fear reaching out, only to delicately cup a twinkling star in his hands after it gently fell into his waiting palms.

That tiny star flickered out.

Dimitri destroyed his steel gauntlets after slamming them into Kronya’s skull. Kronya attempted to block his strikes with her dagger and it _broke._ He didn’t hold back, rage and snapped tension fueling his body. Dimitri turned Kronya’s head into nothing but a gruesome pile of gore, blood splattering the field, over his face and clothes. Her face was _beyond_ recognizable as nothing was left. 

Dimitri _immediately_ switched targets, setting his sights on Cornelia. He ignored her crooning words with a sickly grin on his face, licking the blood from his lips. Dimitri took a Death Г to the chest, running towards Cornelia as if he was _never_ hit. A quick Fire spell disoriented him, blinding his right eye. If Cornelia believed it bought her time, she was sorely mistaken. A kick to the stomach sent her down _hard,_ leaving her to cough up blood. As another distraction to save herself, Cornelia hinted at the truth of Duscur and Dimitri merely laughed as if she told a joke. He laughed, _deranged_ mirth filling his dead fish eyed gaze, throwing his head back as he promptly stomped on Cornelia’s neck. He shakily exhaled, as happy as _ever_ once he heard several bones snap.

“You said to live. Live for what I believe in, Khalid, so I _will._ I’ll kill them. No, no, I won’t avenge you, beloved, I will kill them all because it’s _right_!”

Dimitri whipped his head back, staring at Byleth with a grin, tears trailing down his face.

“Please let me kill them, Professor.”

Byleth used a Divine Pulse.

Byleth snapped their fingers, setting Kronya ablaze over and over until she was reduced to ash. It felt cathartic, no one would charge them for murder, lopping their head off. Byleth could get their revenge, as dull as it became, at times. 

Byleth became a melting pot of _ugly,_ twisted emotions. 

Solon. As inconsequential he ended up to be, the monster in human skin _still_ brought suffering to Remire Village, under the guise of casual and _fun_ experimentation. 

Cornelia. A vile woman Byleth only encountered twice, revealing to Dimitri that Duscur was orchestrated by his step-mother and executed by Cornelia. Byleth didn’t have a clue whether his step-mother did this out of desperation or malicious intent. 

Thales. _Thales._ He was the one to set things in motion, only to be foiled thrice over. When the Blue Lions ran around like headless chickens, not knowing who Arundel _truly_ was in secret, but killing him all the same. When the Golden Deer, and then the Church happened upon the Slithers’ location, taking him down without a hitch in the former, and a _severe_ close call in the latter. Siding with Edelgard hadn’t allowed for Morighan to murder him.

Not _exactly._

Morighan had Divine Pulses for a reason.

Learning what Thales had done after the Eagles murdered Cornelia caused Morighan to snap. First, he threw up the little lunch he had, _screaming_ and sobbing. He went back in time to hide his angry tears, swiping his dagger and stabbing Thales to death. He lashed out at Hubert and Edelgard when they tried to talk to him, beside himself with each growing body count, knowing Felix and Ingrid would not be the last.

Morighan went back again, staring at the upgraded Wo Dao sheathed at Edelgard’s side for a painfully _long_ moment. He briefly wondered if he stabbed his heart, would it beat for the very first time and go still the next? Perhaps Edelgard could light him on fire with a Bolganone instead?

As much as he wished to try it, he didn’t want to give Edelgard anymore trauma.

Morighan used a Divine Pulse, clearing his brain and hardly listening to Thales.

Byleth was brought back to the present by Solon’s fearful voice. 

_Yes, Solon, I don’t use the Sword of the Creator, I stopped wielding it during my second life. I barely needed it._

_Yes, Solon, I’m stronger, even without the damn sword._

‘ _Calm yourself, you fool! If you don’t, you mig-_ ’

“Ha. Ha. Fire go fwoosh.”

Byleth’s voice was carefully bland, their words entirely out of place. The rage and grief nestled into their heart was still there, caged up and _fighting_ to break out. Byleth didn’t want their words to fly free, knowing it would give _so_ much away and too many things to explain later. 

Instead, Byleth tapped into Sothis’ power, setting the field on fire and dousing the violent, wild flames with heavy rain.

* * *

The following aftermath surprisingly wasn’t a disaster. Edelgard revealed the truth she wouldn’t _dare_ give up normally, putting herself through the ringer with the other students. The synergy and amount of red hot anger bubbling among the Golden Deer caught Byleth off guard.

Life at Garreg Mach was tense for a while, yet things were _slowly_ looking up, bit by bit. Edelgard learned to give more, rather than take, accepting an outstretched hand, as well as the hands that shunned her away. She worked with the other House leaders, much to Dimitri’s delight. Claude wasn’t very enthused by it, but met Edelgard halfway if only to get somewhere with the stubborn princess. The Golden Deer and Blue Lions watched Edelgard like _hawks, also_ not very happy.

Things managed to smooth themselves out, bonds were reformed and strengthened, the three Houses uniting in odd ‘we almost got killed!’ solidarity.

* * *

Byleth sat on the floor of Jeralt’s room, staring at the glass of whisky in front of them. They pulled out the ribbon and tied up their hair into a ponytail. As they long figured out, their ears were pointed. 

“I am. _So._ Tired.”

Jeralt huffed, a smile reaching his face.

“Well, that glass won’t drink itself, By.”

Byleth _immediately_ chugged the glass, placing the empty cup back onto the floor.

“What are you planning to do after this, kid?”

“Sleep. Talk to my kids. And become the Archbishop again, I guess.”

Jeralt laughed, ruffling Byleth’s hair.

“You go do that, as long as you're happy.”

Byleth smiled, looking up to glance at the window. They nodded softly, watching the clear blue sky.

“I am.”


End file.
